Feed Your Faith http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com Most recent posts at Feed Your Faith posterous.com Wed, 29 Sep 2010 15:26:00 -0700 Pleasure in Pain. Lots of pain http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com/pleasure-in-pain-lots-of-pain http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com/pleasure-in-pain-lots-of-pain

The 3peaks cyclocross race is intense. Ridiculous, unique. Amazing. 60km with 2000m of ascent. And technical descent. Yes. Up. Up. Up. Down. Fast. Up. Down. Fast. Up and Down. On a road bike with skinny knobblies.

3_peaks_008

Pen-y-Ghent is the last and most draining effort. Arriving with a clear sky, tents pitched. It's off to the pub to eat with friends and to meet like minded souls. People you know from other times/places. January dinner in Strathpeffer 2008? Surely not? Yes. Important? No. No it is not.

Angry

The last effort hurt. Ingleborough and Whernside have depleted energy/increased lactic build. Road explosions have only served to ring cramp alarm bells. Pain is good. Pain has been ok all day - my head is well. My body is weak. That's easy to fix.

End

It's all tarmac and tarmac is met with as much explosion as I have left. The slight incline has me going backward. The finish line in sight, I let my vision go and just go.

2008: 4hrs 33mins.

2010: 4hrs 22 mins.

2011: sub 4hrs and NO punctures! Huge respect to anyone who got close to 3 & 1/2 hours.

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

]]>
http://files.posterous.com/user_profile_pics/1254662/BMR_0692.jpg http://posterous.com/users/3sIQgsGM0vst Philip Hodgkiss Philip Hodgkiss Philip Hodgkiss
Sun, 27 Jun 2010 11:54:00 -0700 The Pits at Mayhem http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com/the-pits-at-mayhem http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com/the-pits-at-mayhem

Media_httpfarm2static_midbx

Media_httpfarm2static_kdeij

Without the fitness or head for racing at Mountain Mayhem, I was delighted when a friend announced his solo entry. I don't want to race, but can pit for Grant and throw an all-nighter, drinking in the atmosphere. After the essential and random email trails, another friend Gavin accepted a late request/offer to stand in on the Singletrack team so Grant, Gavin and me amounted to a road trip. Friday came and after packing, then re-packing and finally doing that **oocha** full force boot shutting we were on our way. Rock on! Ah ... I'll just switch over from Radio 4 to Holy Fuck on the CD. Where ARE they going with that name? Such a quality, innovative band, super tight on stage.

Media_httpfarm2static_baewa

Pat Adams knows a thing or two about putting on a mountain bike race. Original Source Mountain Mayhem is more than that; it's a weekend community event. It's my Mecca of 24 hour endurance racing. Four years ago, riding through the SAAB event village in gathering dusk, a full orchestra was playing and fireworks erupted, just as I gained the ridgeline overlooking the event village ... Special magical memories burnt onto my soul. Like Seb exiting the Bombhole, perfectly siloutted by a huge moon. The Diprose brothers doing 24 hour DJ and the Gorilla in 2007 With other events, it is the Thetford singletrack trails of Dusk till Dawn, the slick delivery of Mike Wilkens' Trans Wales in 2006. Detail events and my own event, Raasay Rumble. Many, many special people met and moments hardwired onto my brain through riding and racing bikes.

Media_httpfarm2static_icmbf

As always happens on the Mayhem morning, 08:00 cheekily becomes 09:30 and before you know it; 13:55. You are standing in the starting group, heart pounding at 170bpm. All kinds of euphoria spikes and belly churning doubt going on. Only, I'm shouldering women and children out the way on the 'wrong' side of the barriers so that I can see Grant come back from his run and get my hand on his saddle to secure his bike. How do I feel? Do I want to be racing? Dunno, yes. Maybe, ah! Here's Grant and there he goes. We decided on a two lap strategy so there is time to go and take some photos, bump in to Jim and D of Rat Race and mooch some more. Grant comes back in to pit in a good time, buzzing from the exertion and the fast final flow over the finish line. Bam! In, out off he went. Now I have the tummy churns and can feel the endorphin and adrenaline running through his system. Outside Rob Lee, John Pitchers and Rob Dean's easy-ups are buzzing with activity. James Leavesly and Anthony White are the other side of the exit strip. Grant makes two more pit stops and is still strong, but then we are sitting at 23:30, Grant's knee has popped. We (he more than me) are gutted but hopeful. I've administered as much anti inflammatory in as is sensible. A gentle rub, hot sweet tea and then he's back out. Judging from the locality of his problem, we both know that his leg's not going to fall off but equally know it is unlikely that the inflammation will decrease to an acceptable burn; rather than escalating to seething, sharp agony. Whilst waiting for Grant to come back round, a new and interesting style of heckling is introduced:

Media_httpfarm2static_qkqrj

Heckler: 'What's your name?'Rider: 'what?' or '     '

Heckler: [one voice] 'murmur, grumble'

Heckler: 'What's your name?'

Rider: 'James?'

Heckler: [one voice turns into 20] 'GOOAAAN JAMES ­ WOOOO!!!!'

James' face turns from grim determination and masked pain through shock to elation. He coughs back a chocking sob of happiness, pride and joy then painfully raises his left hand in acknowledgement and turns to smile. I'm savouring his moment.

Around midnight, Grant came limping back into the Pits. Race over. We both know that continuing will almost certainly leave lasting damage. Earlier, Rob Dean made the correct choice to end his race, having crashed out of 2nd place on his fourth lap; in a sportsmanship style, he buzzed about until the adrenaline left, then accepted reality, had a shower and looked forward to reading his book and being able to sleep. The race has already taken casualties and will take more. Chatting to Zoe and Chrissie, Rob Lee and John Pitchers are both doing well. I watch as the top riders pit and ride with the same pace and efficiency as 1400, the day before. It is an education, My experience of 24 hour racing has always been the sharp end, where lap counts can get confused and pit stops lost in a haze of fatigue and pain (re-read the last sentence –  and this is my passion because? answers on a postcard).

Media_httpfarm2static_bbeqv

Eventually, the desire for an all nighter dwindles so it's time to poodle off to bed. Through the night, Rob Lee and James Leavesly both left the race (respecting their bodies in the same way that Grant and Rob did) and I don't know any of the other soloists now, but know of them, Anthony White is metronomically tapping out laps ­ amazing. And then 14:00 arrives and my friends are trickling in. I want to be one of the slack shouldered, deep chested riders. I need to have the horror and pain, the ecstasy and exasperation, the giggles and incredulity that an endurance racer feels at the end of 24 hours of racing.

Media_httpfarm2static_hdfll

Back in the car, we trundle on down a weary road. Watching from the pits and on the course has been wonderful for me. I've learnt so much by watching rather than doing. So Mayhem 2011, Grant is going to revise the mixed Brighton Jey Pride team and Iím coming back solo, come rain or shine. Shine please.

Media_httpfarm2static_ksizy

 

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

]]>
http://files.posterous.com/user_profile_pics/1254662/BMR_0692.jpg http://posterous.com/users/3sIQgsGM0vst Philip Hodgkiss Philip Hodgkiss Philip Hodgkiss
Thu, 06 May 2010 13:24:00 -0700 It's the wrong shoes, Gorrick http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com/its-the-wrong-shoes-gorrick http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com/its-the-wrong-shoes-gorrick

So, I'm starting to ride a bit. A lot actually - as much as I can. I had committed, then swithered about the Gorrick Enduro. Yes, definitely. Well, maybe. Ach what's the point? Repeat. Like a magician's illusion cup set. Which one is the answer under and, you know what? I'll choose anyway. Rubbish I know. The pitiful lounge lizard is being drowned in derision. The racer and rider is coming out of his malaise - yes. 

Text messages and a certainty that I must get out have me packing my bags on Saturday night, with a racer's meticulous manner. Forecast isn't good so it includes arm/knee warmers, gloves x 3, socks x 3 and race jersey x ... ah, I only have one that I want to wear. Ok. Gore gilet, good. Shoes. Why is the left cleaner than the right? Shrug, stuff in bag. Clothes sorted, I get water, and food, tools and bike ready and go to bed with an excited expectation of what will happen tomorrow. I'd thought (sensibly) that, having only ridden 20 miles hard the weekend before, maybe I should just double that? But seven laps of the 10 mile course is the enduro, and, well ... that's what I do, isn't it? I'm not a whippet; I warm up, ride hard and do ok against my own expectations.

IMGP1644

So we arrive in good time at Swinley forest, Lorraine, Deano, Steve-the-Ringer, Charlie, Jenn, Ian, Rob … I fit here. Rory and me have 30 minutes to set up our pit, get into race clothes, test bikes, register and the other stuff. But everyone is chilled. The last minutes are always at least five. It's the cycling way. While changing and gaffing to Rory about this and that, I reached for my shoes ... ah. One is just far too much cleaner than the other. Turn it over. No, I haven't. I couldn't! I have. Look at my watch, back down at the Look cleat starting back from my left road shoe. Look right at my spd’d mountain bike shoe … they are almost identical. It’s 08:10. 20 minutes. Damn! 65 painful pounds later I have cleats in a reasonable semblance to my normal position and I'm in the bunch. 10, 9, 8 ... my commutes would be so much faster if I was in a group ... 7, 6, 5 ... Christ, get on with it, I’m freezing ... 4, 3, 2, 1, go.   

The first turn down is singletrack and after a few blunt overtaking maneuvers, I've split myself from Rory, having suggested that he goes harder than it feels sensible from the start and then settle into that pace. I’m making sure Rory is around and pushing the pace. Ah, this looks like I need to go right but too fast … mud, ruts, bars fling left – over I go. Ouch. A fine lead out man, I am. The Gorrick course is a mixture of lung busting and impossible climbs, amazingly bermed descent shoots and sweet singletrack and the first lap is dry and fast. I can’t remember exactly when it started raining, but I arrived back from my first lap, placed 40th and aware it was getting sloppy. The emotional and financial controllers in my head had already had their bored meeting – ‘he’s going to do it anyway?’. Yes. ‘Ah well, release the endorphin equity? Ok’. I can see Rory heading up the hill, if I could ride up to him and wheel about, maybe it’d help? Joolze is there. This is like old times.

Rory is riding the pace I’d advised, just a bit more than I can settle into or match. I blame the stupid bike, but then the stupid bike is my daft choice and … SHUT UP!!! I start to anticipate the climbs with more precision, there are fast tracts of land and wheel sucking mud, position on the bike is everything. The descending demands your full attention, to gain as much speed and adrenaline thrill as possible. The berms are holding up well. I’m trying to remember, is it push the outer bar and keep your wrists bent low or the other way round? Whatever, it seems to be working!

Lap three, Rory has disappeared off my horizon so I’m no longer looking to wheel about and settle into a punishing pace. Hungry? Here, a mouthful of wet Haribo mixed with sand and dirt … I’m doing this for fun?

Fourth lap. Not feeling so good. I can’t use my knowledge to ride any of this faster. There is no more power available I pull levers in an arbitrary fashion and gears change, sort of. Brakes slow me on an unknown contact substance although the most likely is metal on metal. Not being able to push into the higher heart rates is starting to frustrate and freeze me then, without reason, it all becomes quiet and surreal – removed. ‘1410?’. ‘Hi Dad, it’s me, the race I’m doing today? It’s all got very gloopy, wet and hard, not really enjoying this – it’s sandy, not rocky and I have to tell you about my shoes …’. My mind captures and enjoys Dad’s whooping laughter and smiling eyes. Derek Purdy’s telephone exchanges where always a source of great amusement to dad and I like to think my exploits got close to those high echelons. ‘Bye dad, see you soon’. ‘Bye Phil, take care.’

God my knee is sore. If I pull my brake levers I still slow down. Hrm. There really is no glory in this … och; if I stop I’m only going to have to wait for Rory. Coming through on my fifth lap and I’m placed 8th. From 40th!! Blimey. Joolze informs me that the race is being called after six laps, so I have no choice really. The last lap is ghostly, a few whippets skip past but mostly silence, my gears settle into a reasonable state and tap out the last few miles, not really racing, but riding hard enough. I’m glad to finish and astounded/delighted it’s in third place, although finishing third out of three is really coming last. Hey! I’l take the podium, thanks. Lies, damned lies and statistics.

IMGP1648

Driving back with Rory, we share some good time. Reflect. Rory had a good feeling on his fourth lap, I had my ephemeral conversation with dad at the same time. Later that night, I share good company with more like-minded souls.These are my people. I don’t understand or want to understand others. Some say ‘it’s mad, your commute!!’. ‘You’re addicted to riding your bike’. These people drive to work in the same commuting time that I can make. Who is mad and who is passionate? Who is addicted and who is committed. I know where I want to be.

Feed your Faith. Don't accept a diagnosis. Look further. 

www.canceractive.com

www.credence.org

 

 

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

]]>
http://files.posterous.com/user_profile_pics/1254662/BMR_0692.jpg http://posterous.com/users/3sIQgsGM0vst Philip Hodgkiss Philip Hodgkiss Philip Hodgkiss
Tue, 27 Apr 2010 12:39:00 -0700 Vet Racing. Coffee'n'Cake http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com/vet-racing-coffeencake http://feedyourfaith.posterous.com/vet-racing-coffeencake

I'm not an ageist, sexist, racist, fascist, nationalist or masochist ... well, maybe the last one is true. But standing in the eerie gloom of misty Goodwood, I'm eying up the grey haired brigade. My competition. This is my first race as a Vet. My first race since ... Raasay Rumble? Can't be surely. The Goodwood Spring Challenge is a low key, indeed grass roots, cross country race and with five miles to drive before arriving, I start to feel the pre-race sensations, perhaps a little refined over the years – my four score having instilled some decorum. Arriving, I'm directed to my parking slot, one youth, one adult. It always amazes and delights me – the willing enthusiasm of volunteers at these kinds of event, in fact all events. Without that human quality it would be impossible. One of my most memorable 24 hour events was a sunny Sleepless in the Saddle, not so much for the course, but for the young TA girls belting out 'is this the way to amarillo' - all through the night!

I've prepared properly, hydrating the night before and early to bed after packing the clothes bag, sorting the tool kit (including track/shock pump) and tweaking the irritating rub of the front disc rotor. Claire and the kids were due to come with me, but a sleepover scuppered that plan. No bad thing as the weather looks pretty nasty. Next door to me, a mum, dad and three kids are fussing about their people carrier. The young daughter (Aimee's age) is totally up for it - anything, running about, riding her bike, wanting daddy to win. Two sullen sons (either teen or close to it) have a different agenda. One is determined to get as much mud on the back seats as possible; the other to decapitate mum with the frisbee. Dad snaps, 'oh for Christ's sake!!'. I feel for him, but secretly thank the big man upstairs for sending Kitty and Bea to us for a sleepover. The phone rings just as I see Nigel's Bongo appear out of the thickening mist. Phew. 

We have both neglected to bring arm warmers, embrocation, waterproofs even but head out on a practice lap, it's soon apparent that this is not a problem – out of the wind, it's warm and slightly damp. Perfect. As our 08:00 plan for leaving didn't work out, we have to scope the course in the parent and kid 'race'. I'm not sure that competition is such a good idea for this group - why not just have controlled, event village fun stuff: 'best spokey dokey formation'. Inclusion is the main issue. It's not a technical course by any means, but there is a four foot drop followed by a sharp right and left onto squiggly lines. One poor wee soul has clearly hit the same tree root that I nearly did and gone over his bars, sobbing gently at the side of the track with a worried and guilty looking dad. We rattle on using the slow pace to check out a piece of lovely, tree lined, descending singletrack. Given the chance, we pass the competitive dad/boy clusters and open the taps to skoot on through some forest trail and hit a series of well-bermed turns. No traffic, so I check out the lines at race pace. The course also boasts some comical grass descents - faster, faster, off cambre 180 deg turn coming up nowwwwww - oops. Straight on.

Soon enough, I'm standing on the start line. The surprise of turning to my left and seeing Paul smiling back is amazing but not unexpected. Like chatting to Mike on the startline of Mayhem ... two? three? years ago. Maybe. Like so many other occasions where I've been in the same place and time as like minded souls. This is what it's about. Five, four, three, two, one - Go! My gearing is perfect and we're off, sprinting from a middle position, I take the lead. Ah. Ok. I'll keep this if I can! Careering into the drop, my speed launches and takes me further than my practice potter did but correcting, I heave the bike into an immediate right turn then snap it back left to enter the squiggly singletrack. This is good. I'm feeling strong. Everything is perfect, the trail is dampened and grippy, I know the turns and twists, the tight singletrack trail riding faster and faster, Paul's breathing almost on my neck. Faster and faster; then the tricky double tree-gate looms. At five miles per hour, this posed no problem. At probably 20-25, it's a different story. I brake, correct, try to pedal out of the negative camber before mounting one tree and starting to pin ball the chain of tree trunks, finally throwing my chain, spinning at 300rpm, stuck to a tree. Pride destroyed!

First priority: clear my carnage off the trail.

Second: get chain back on.

Third, get back on the trail – all the grinning greyies flit past and I curse my stupidity, see the gap and flick back in.

The race is on, eeking every ounce of traction from the course; hitting the singletrack hard and with conviction, powering into every climb and screaming through the second section of tree-lined singletrack. Where is everyone? Crossing the Goodwood tarmac hillclimb, I start the grassy giggles – gently heading way out left and more gently flicking right, 30 foot higher than the apex of the grassy off camber descent. The second lap is hard. My energy and conviction are draining as the sun bursts through the trees. Why dad? I asked you to take me instead? [shut up shut up shut up] A group of three riders are ahead - one I know as being 'tasty'. Slap on the launch control and head down. I merge with the group on the first grassy descent – they have all taken the far left line. I like this. They all flick carefully right to pre-empt the apex. Yes. Roadie style, I trust and sit on a wheel (it turns out, belongs to Andy). His conviction is obvious. We wheel about, chase into the tight descending turns and ride hard through the singletrack. Andy is clearly the stronger rider and I start compensating ('he's got a scandium hardtail, i've got this stupid 130m full suss - god I hate the cockpit length on this bike ...'). Crossing the line, I was surprised to find that I'd made the top 10 – just. It hurt but pain was good. 

Later that afternoon, I took the kids to the park. At ages seven and (coming on) six, you can simply open the gate and make sure neither of them have hurdled the fence - let them get on with it. I always wonder what to do – as a parent. The balance of discipline and love, encouragement and rapprochement ... how do you get it right with each perfectly formed individual? Ben interrupts by howling that Aimee is about to be thrown off the vortex blue disk-thing, so I casually save her plunge into sand and we head to the cafe. Ben tells me, enthusiastically, all about Poptropica, drums and Captain Underpants while Aimee carefully details the complex nature of how Grace and Shirley and her had arranged to sit together at lunch [stern looks to make sure I understand the nuances and complexities] and ... yes. Perfectly formed individuals.

God, Hove park do good coffee and cake. 

 

Feed your Faith

www.canceractive.com 

Permalink | Leave a comment  »

]]>
http://files.posterous.com/user_profile_pics/1254662/BMR_0692.jpg http://posterous.com/users/3sIQgsGM0vst Philip Hodgkiss Philip Hodgkiss Philip Hodgkiss